


Trade

by Delphi



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Class Issues, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Rough Trade, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-30
Updated: 2011-01-30
Packaged: 2017-10-15 06:22:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/157919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delphi/pseuds/Delphi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cambridge student Severus Snape had a plan for his first time. Shagging the plumber didn't figure into it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trade

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Kink Bingo 2011 January Mini-Challenge: Alternates and Alternatives (Domestic/Tradesman)

Severus Snape had intended to lose his virginity during his first year at Cambridge. This was, it seemed while drafting his course schedules and filling out his bursary applications, an un-lofty goal complicated only slightly by his untried but theoretically proven status as a homosexual. Far away from the small minds and big mouths of Spinner’s End, he supposed he would tumble into a discreet and mutually beneficial affair with a professor, or perhaps a suitably gifted classmate. The relationship would be brief and cerebral and emotionally uncomplicated, and would be fondly remembered and obliquely referenced in the memoirs he would write some years from now after he won his first Nobel Prize.

That this affair did not, in fact, come to pass over the last eight months could perhaps be attributed to his choice of course (Natural Sciences rather than, say, English or Classics), his age (under the absurdities of the law, he was old enough to father a child but not old enough to suck a cock), and a combination of his personal appearance and tolerance level for the remainder of the human race (nil and nil).

That he is currently half-naked and kissing a plumber twenty years his senior…is not so clearly explicable.

“Like that?” the man murmurs smugly against his lips.

The man smells like cigarette smoke and the cheapest aftershave at the chemist’s, and Severus, who is in the process of receiving the very first handjob of his life, can only breathe out in a rush and mutely nod. His hands twist up the bed sheets, and he kisses the man again, pressing hard against warm lips and a faintly stubbled chin to avoid looking down and helplessly coming all over himself at the sight of his own cock in that large, work-reddened hand.

The hand quickens its pace, a rough thumb brushing over Severus’s swollen glans with every stroke. His breath catches in his throat and narrows into a pathetic whine.

“Eager little tart,” the man chuckles, and Severus would draw back in indignation had he the wits to do so. But then the man’s other hand is on his back and moving lower as his voice sinks down even deeper into something hot and grimy. “Do you take it up the arse?”

This all began innocently enough, Severus will later feel the need to reassure himself.

After all, it’s not as if he lured the man here expressly for the purposes of sodomy. In fact, he didn't lure him here at all. He had awoken this morning in all ignorance, to the clanging and groaning of the pipes—for a startled moment certain that he was still in his room at Trinity and moreover late for class—and then, frowning at the commotion, ventured downstairs to investigate. If anything, this is his parents’ fault. It is their house, after all, and their pipes, and neither of them had been willing to come meet him last night, leaving him to make his own way home from the train station with his luggage in tow. By the time he had dragged everything inside and up to his room (they had not, at least, changed the locks in his absence), he’d been too knackered to even consider unpacking and had fallen asleep in nothing but his pants. Which was all he was wearing when he entered what was supposed to be an empty kitchen.

“You’d be the layabout, then—“ the stranger with his head under the sink said, or rather began to say, because as he removed himself from the cabinet and caught sight of Severus, he promptly fell silent, staring with wide, pale eyes.

Severus went red, his hands darting down futilely. He expected a snort, a chuckle, a stupid joke—whatever blokish idiots did when they caught someone out in their pants—but the man didn’t say anything. Instead, he looked Severus over very slowly, a ruddy flush spreading across his cheeks in turn.

At which point, skin prickling with gooseflesh and nipples tightening, Severus found himself dimly and distantly thinking that he had once seen a film like this…

He had never, it should be pointed out, expected to lose his virginity in his childhood home. He is kneeling up, clutching the scarred and pitted headboard, the redness in his face refusing to abate after a mortifying, naked scramble through the bathroom and his luggage for Vaseline. The smell of it reminds him of winter, of cracked skin and chapped lips, and he shivers despite the fact that the day is warm and the faded wallpaper is sweating. The room feels like an outgrown jumper, familiar and itchy. He scrubbed this place off him the morning he left for Cambridge. He bought new clothes and new shoes, and he stepped onto the train with one accent and got off with another. He all but shed his skin, and now he’s back here, naked as the day he was born, his cock dripping shamelessly onto the worn, pilled sheets that haven’t been washed since he left.

“Hurry up,” he says, trying to cover his nervousness as thick, greasy fingers slide back and forth over his cleft. He glances backwards, wetting his lips reflexively at the sight of that big red cock jutting out of the man’s trousers. He may not read Classics, but anyone burdened with a name like his has studied enough to know that the ancients considered a large endowment a sign of barbarism, and that is the principal thought in his head, warring with the wish that he had asked to suck it.

His hands tighten around the edge of the headboard. At least he's in his bedroom. It's dark in here, the windows narrow, not like the sunny kitchen where he might have ended up fucked over the very table where he would spend the next four months sitting across from his parents.

Of course, it's not like he hung about down there in his pants for any culpable length of time. He went back upstairs straight away, whereupon he dressed in one of his smart outfits that still felt too new, and paced his room, and finally listened to the wireless for a time, hoping the plumber would finish up and leave if he waited long enough. Hunger eventually won out, however, and Severus finally slunk down for breakfast. He sat at the table and ate his cereal, listening to the clink and cursing of repair work and trying not to stare at the noticeable bulge in the front of the man's work trousers.

“Pass us that basin wrench?” the man asked.

Severus hesitated for a moment, the old him poised to point out that _he_ was not being paid to fix whatever was wrong with the pipes and the new him prepared to feign ignorance at ever having heard of a basin wrench. After a moment, however, he merely sighed, picked up the tool, and passed it over.

The man inched out from the cabinet and took it, his hand lingering very close to Severus’s own for a long moment as he stared at him again with those unnerving eyes. He was somewhere between unremarkable and ugly, with the sort of broad shoulders and hairy arms that made Severus uncomfortably remember his boyhood fascination with the men at the mill. Not the ones who worked in the offices with his father, but the men who worked the machines.

“Home all alone, then?” the man asked.

Severus felt his heartbeat quicken anxiously. “Yes.”

“Must be a student, if you’re off and idle today.” He sounded as if he didn't approve of the concept of a day off.

Severus’s gaze dropped once again in guilty fascination to the man’s trousers, which looked to be covered in cat hair. He reeled it back swiftly, but he was fairly certain the man had noticed. He cleared his throat. “Yes, I just got in last night. I won’t be starting work until Monday.”

His father had offered to get him a summer job at the mill, but Severus refused to set foot in the place, even as a clerk. It would be back to tutoring, much as he loathed it.

“I expect,” the man said slowly, like he was setting one foot out on uncertain ice, “that your parents’ll be back soon enough.”

He could have said yes. Never mind the truth, he could have easily said that his mother was due in the door any second. He could have excused himself back to his bedroom. He could have gone in the sitting room to watch telly. This man was no professor, no colleague with a neatly knotted tie and handsome manners. But he was here, and he was looking, and Severus had most definitely seen a film like this.

And so he stood, with an arch expression that belied his uncertainty, and walked towards the doorway.

"They'll be gone all day," he said, putting a foot on the stairs and glancing back to ensure that the plumber was following. Within an instant came the startling warmth of hands on his hips, and the hard contact of the wall against his back, and the curious sight of coarse, unlovely hands almost delicately unbuttoning his clean white shirt.

He had, as it happened, been convinced at that moment that the proceedings would be quick and quiet. Yes, he'd glimpsed his share of pornography and pored over literary descriptions—hours of passion and screams of bliss and all that nonsense—but his more practical experience (i.e. masturbation) had taught him that there was only so long you could go on with things before you either came or lost interest.

Which does not entirely explain why it's an hour later and he's straining against his own skin, trembling so hard that his teeth would be chattering if they weren't sunk into his forearm in an attempt to keep himself from crying out. One callused hand is briskly rubbing along his chest, scraping over his nipples and dipping down now and again to tap maddeningly at his cock. His arse is impossibly slick and stretched around what has to be at least three fingers.

"Oh God," he mutters, muffled against his arm as the fingers withdraw, leaving him feeling lewdly open for several seconds before the thick, blunt head of a cock is pushing into him.

A strangled sound leaps from his throat as the man presses into him, inch after seemingly endless inch going so deep that Severus can hardly breathe.

"Shh." The man squeezes Severus's hip roughly. "Don't want the neighbours knowing what you're up to, do you?"

There's something amused in his voice, as if it's a joke, but no, Severus does not want the neighbours to know what he's up to. He is naked in his parents' home at eleven o'clock in the morning, letting a nameless man with dirty fingernails fuck him in the arse on his childhood bed. He is bracing himself on the headboard and pushing back, moaning low at the feeling of coarse hair rubbing against his skin. He is stroking himself shamelessly, well aware of the man watching him from over his shoulder.

"Christ, you're tight," the man groans.

Severus doesn't want to know how many times he'd have to do this before something that big isn't all he can feel every time he draws breath. He manages to muster his voice, not willing to admit to being rendered speechless. "And what, ah, do you intend to do about it?"

The man chuckles, a low sound that Severus can feel right up against his back. "Oh, I'll loosen you _right_ up, my lad..."

Severus closes his eyes tightly as the man begins to move. He clamps his mouth shut but can’t quite keep back the little sounds that are knocked out of him with every thrust.

 _Fuck_ —he knows why it’s an apt word now. He can feel it, the fricative burning at his lips, and his throat gulping convulsively around the hard _k_ as he’s all but split open. The bed whimpers along with him, and the lewd skin-on-skin slap of their bodies has him planting both hands against the headboard, trying to keep himself from coming too soon.

The twisting pinches at his nipples and the kneading at his thighs are no help to his restraint. Those hands nearly wound him, rough as lathes, and he gives himself up to them, gives himself up to being touched and being used. The man thrusts harder into him, so hard that the thoughts begin to rattle loose in Severus’s head. He tries to keep count of each thrust to stave off the tight knot of heat deep in his abdomen, but his concentration falls to pieces entirely somewhere between fifty and sixty, and soon enough there’s nothing to count as he’s pushing back in a greedy, gasping frenzy.

He's vaguely aware of the moment when the man’s heavy breathing turns to low grunts. The bed begins to squeal in earnest, and all it takes is a handful of strokes from that broad, knowing hand to make Severus come so hard that his vision burns and his body seems to melt from navel to knee.

And for an instant, his mind is perfectly, quietly blank.

Severus has no intention of explaining to anyone how the dent in his bedroom wall got there. He will move the bed into the corner to avoid the obvious implication, and in all likelihood, neither of his parents will remember where it used to be. Neither will he explain how, one week later, a water pipe will have cause to burst in the bathroom; but then, he will not be asked, no matter how much his father will grumble.

For the moment, however, he is sprawled on his bed, watching the man dig a pack of cigarettes and a lighter out from his pile of clothes. The bed is too narrow for two, so they're lying side by side widthways, legs bent over the edge. Their naked arms are touching, and Severus is as mildly uncomfortable with that fact as he is with the debauched state of his backside.

"Manchester?" the man asks, lighting his cigarette.

"Hm?" Severus raises an eyebrow, for a moment tolerating the mad idea that the man is proposing they go.

"D'you go to school in Manchester?"

“Ah.” Severus shakes his head, glancing at the man's glinting cock. Even soft, it's something to look at, and his own gives a lazy but hopeful twitch. "No, I'm at Cambridge," he says with rather less carefully constructed modesty than he might have endeavoured for a year ago.

“Look at you," the man says, and though the words might have been accompanied by 'la-di-dah,' he actually sounds sincerely impressed.

Severus shrugs, staring up at the water stain on the ceiling. “It’s only a school,” he says.

The words taste strange in his mouth. Perhaps he thought the place was magic once, but after eight months, he knows it is as full of idiots as anywhere else. He will go back in October, of course, perhaps with the same inevitability with which his old classmates set off to the mill in their fathers’ footsteps. It’s the Spinner's End refrain, really: ‘What else is there?’

He shakes his head silently and regards the drying mess spattered across his chest.

The smoke swirls over him, bitter and warm, and he expects the man to get dressed and return to work, but neither of them is moving. Well, Severus supposes, the man is being paid by the hour. He himself is in no hurry to rise. He is sore all over in a not-unpleasant way that he suspects might resemble the incomprehensible pleasure others take in sport, and this is his room besides.

He draws in a deep breath. That awful aftershave smells better with the salty note of sex and sweat twining around it.

“Pass us a fag?” he finally says, and with a crooked grin, the man obliges.


End file.
